Helljumper's Creed
by Rookie425
Summary: The war may be over, but the Covenant aren't much for surrender. A cruiser makes one last attempt at escaping but ends up stranded on a human colonized world.  Now, with the colony being held ransom for safe passage, humanity requires a subtle approach.
1. Insertion

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any working titles associated with Bungie, nor do I own Halo or any of its characters, they are, and always will rightfully be the property of Bungie and Microsoft. All main characters in this story are my own, created, inspired and developed by myself. I do not plan to sell or profit from this title. It is purely for audience's reading pleasure.

[For those of you who have me on a watch list or their favorites, no I am not dead. My lack of updates is mostly due to the amount of work I've been putting in. Also, the number of projects that I have in mind are slowing me down a little, namely the series of accounts I have titled "Killjoy". I want to at least get that one off the ground before I forget. Don't worry though, once I get the first part of my Killjoy series out of the way, Requiem for Mombasa will be my primary focus.]

A single Covenant Citadel rested tranquilly in a lush, green plain south of the charred remains of the outer colony settlement. The small privatized contingent of Brutes had come with bone crushing strength to claim the land, ravaging the colony and taking human prisoners to ransom safe passage from the system. It was a final desperate attempt at fleeing from a war that the Covenant had started.

"There they come!" a Brute War Chieftain howled, thrusting a finger to the sky at the streaks of fire burning through the atmosphere.

"The hierarch's foresight was true," his captain said, "They're heading for their ruins. No doubt to save their precious people."

Of course, the UNSC wouldn't let this deed go unanswered. They wouldn't leave the colonists on this planet to remain prisoners to the Jiralhanae. Little did the Brutes know that the humans' reaction to this act would be more of a reprisal than them simply submitting to their demands.

"Pathetic!" the War Chieftain spat, turning to the Grunt operator. "Wait for them to land! Then detonate the charges!" The Grunt fearfully nodded then turned to run for his control unit that was wired to the anti-matter charges in the colony. "We'll show these primitives the cost of their treachery and weak compassion!"

Exiting his short monologue, the Chieftain turned to see his Grunt demolitions operator staring at the sky rather than still rushing to arm the charges. "I told you to ready the charges," he growled. The Grunt didn't move. "What in the name of Rukt is wrong with you?" The Grunt threw his hand up at the sky, pointing like a stargazing child. A solitary streak of fire was arching away from the rest. The Brute's face twisted in confusion as he squinted at the ball of fire on its heavy descent.

The incoming pod began to grow larger, burning brighter in the dawning sunlight. "What is this…?" A scream began to fill the air, growing louder along with the rumble of fire in the sky. The Chieftain's eyes shot open with surprise. The pod was close enough for the Brute to see its breaking chute deploy. "Spread out! Spread out!"

The scout party scattered as if a Shiva missile was coming down on them, running in all directions. The Chieftain dove away just in time as the pod landed down meters behind him. He opened his hand and poked a glance through his fingers, timidly looking over his shoulder. He let out a hoarse laugh from his deep belly and stood up, a Brute Minor on either side of him. "Ha! An admirable attempt, human, but it makes no difference, for you will die in vain! Kill it once it emerges from its crypt."

Steam began to hiss through the corners of the drop pod's hatch. The Chieftain tried to hold back from laughing. He could already see himself breaking this suicidal human fighter's neck, tearing it into ribbons. No, this was one to remember. Perhaps instead he would rip its skull from its body and keep to drink out of for when he feasted on the seared body.

Suddenly, the bolted pattern around the front of the pod popped and sent the hatch flying. The Chieftain let out an "oof!" as the hatch slammed into him, throwing him back from his subordinates. Baffled by their leader's painful fate, the two looked at each other and then opened fire on the pod. Their spike rifles spat white hot rounds in and around the pod, each shot connecting the target with a _ka-chink_. They tightly squeezed the triggers until their ammo packs were depleted.

The two reloaded and readied up again, approaching the pod with weapons forward. One of them waved his hand to clear the smoke away from his sight. The haze surrounding the pod still lingered but from what they could see, the interior was empty. There was nothing but a vacant seat and a menagerie of spikes cluttered all around. One looked at the other. "What's this?"

As the smoke began to clear away, a figure climbed up onto the pod from behind it, perfectly balanced in a squat. The two surprised Brutes yelled as they snapped their head up at the silhouette. A blue visor cocked sideways, almost curiously through the smoke as it looked down at them. Without hesitation, the brutes gunned up on their target.

The figure used its legs to leap off of the pod toward them. Arms raised, the Helljumper flicked his hands back as he soared toward his mark. From his vambraces emerged a pair of blades that locked in place several inches past his palms. The Brutes stood their ground, bringing their aim to his level as the blades cut through the smoke. Before they had a chance to fire, the gracious fighter landed his air attack on both of them blade-first, following their bodies to the ground.

Marco remained crouched over his opponents, gently lifted his hidden blades from the lifeless Brutes with ease. The demo grunt stood feet away, petrified at the appearance of this ghost. Shaking in his armor, he stepped back, snapping a twig as he did. The Helljumper jerked his head up at the grunt, a glint of blue light shining from his visor. As the two were locked in a stare, the five foot alien began to stammer, chattering his teeth beneath his mask. Marco brought a finger up to the base of his visor, letting out a quiet "shhh." The Grunt screamed, flailing his hands in the air, and ran off into the field.

Marco brought himself up from the bodies of the two Brute minors, arching his back and shoulders, listening to his bones popping under the sealed protection of his suit. "Ah," he groaned with a light Italian accent, "land." He smiled with his accomplishment. For trying to aim a pod at a single target while in freefall, he made quite an accurate shot, even though he didn't hit the Chieftain. The ground began to rumble, and moments later the impacts of drop pods reached his ears as the rest of his company made land-down.

His TacCom activated and began transmitting. Gunfire could be heard over the radio for mere moments. He heard a distant "oorah" in the background as his CO's voice filled his helmet. _"Corporal, you're off mission. What the hell happened?"_

Marco keyed his comm to reply. "My pod malfunctioned," he lied, "I had to break formation. I didn't want to put anyone at risk."

"_Roger. What's your situation now?"_

"I landed somewhere east of the Citadel, just outside of its defensive range. I also encountered a Covenant party overlooking the colony from a distance. They were planning on springing a trap once you went to rescue the hostages. Keep an eye out for anti-matter charges near the settlement."

"_Copy that. Thanks for the input. Listen. I want you to stay put, alright? Don't risk anything; it's not worth getting killed. Relay whatever intel you can from where you are now. Just don't go out of your way to engage the enemy."_

"Say again your last," Marco purposely tuned his comm channel out of synch with the CO's frequency, disrupting the transmission with white noise, "I did not copy."

"_Stay...ut…Do not…engage…th…emy."_

"I'm losing your signal, lead. I say again, repeat your last." Just then, he killed the transmission and closed the channel. "Well isn't that inconvenient," he said with a smirk.

The truth was Marco's priorities were elsewhere, priorities that no one was allowed to know. His company, his commanding officer, not even the Office of Naval Intelligence knew. Of course, the colonists were still among the objectives, but one less Helljumper wasn't going to change the outcome of a rescue insertion.

He made his way over to the demo grunt's now abandoned control node, stepping on the War Chieftain's gut as he passed. The Brute let out a belch as the armored boot stomped over him. The Marine didn't entirely know how the console worked. The man-sized, box-shaped device didn't leave him much to work with other than an alien keyboard and a small gap behind it. He frowned, and then shrugged as the answer came to him. "When in doubt…" He extended the blade on his right arm and jabbed at the back of the control pad, making the opening into the box larger. He then nuzzled a grenade into the gap in the node.

"I just saved your life, Captain," Marco said quietly as he headed for the Citadel, the demolitions node popping behind him like a heated kernel. He turned his head to catch a glimpse of the combat trailing along in the distance. He lazily tossed a two-finger salute in his company's direction, despite being out of visible range. "Safety and peace. I know you'll get the job done."

[Author's note: This whole thing...started with a text conversation with my friend. He was talking about saving up money to buy an Ezio costume for Halloween. I said I have other things to save my money on, like full out ODST gear. Somewhere along the line, I said "Helljumper's Creed" and thus spawned his idea. I've meant for it to be a one-shot, but with the length of this damn story, I can't imagine reading one huge wall-o-text would be enjoyable. So I'm going to be uploading it in sections for easier reading.]


	2. Ascension

As he left the primary task to the rest of his company, Marco studied the Citadel from a dangerously close position. He couldn't be more grateful for the planet's slightly mountainous terrain. The hill that he was laying prone on gave him just the right bit of cover from the perimeter defenses, which consisted of a single Covenant Specter and a small handful of turrets branching out from the base. Their sensors probably already detected him, but without visual confirmation, he registered just as any local wild life would to them. The incursion on the town warranted enough attention to leave the Covenant base without any additional patrols.

Marco hummed quietly in thought. "They clearly weren't expecting their trap to fail if they had to rush their own defense force to the town. Their numbers must be limited." Despite this, the Citadel had compensated for their lack of a ground force, constructing shield generators connected around the base center. It would take either a whole fleet to destroy the base from orbit or an infiltration team with all of the kinetic barrier strength surrounding it, and the only way in was through the front.

"Nothing is impregnable," Marco said flatly. On the bright side, this was the least defended path to the Citadel, what with one turret and a single patrol vehicle. He watched closely as the Specter hovered by again in its wide circle around the massive structure. "Now's my chance." He pushed himself out of prone and slid down the grassy hill.

The moment he reacquired his footing, Marco bolted toward the giant alien structure. Sure enough, he now had the undivided attention of the turret as it began to rotate in his direction. The Assassin slipped the M319 IGL from his back, thanking God for his sixth sense that told him to bring it. He only prayed now that it was enough to do the trick.

Marco squeezed the trigger, fighting the recoil as he ran. The blast washed over the turret's protective shielding, leaving the gun itself unscathed. Despite this, the detonator's EMP shock was enough to freeze the turret, giving Marco the split second he needed to work his way past it.

He immediately discarded the weapon to free up his hands then jumped onto the rim of the turret's base socket, running around to the back just as the gun came back to life. "Cazzo," he muttered, taking a breath. He was safe now; there was no way the turret could turn around and fire in the direction of its own base. Keeping his balance, the Helljumper tiptoed his way along the shaft that connected the turret to the base.

The complicated design of the fortress made it look intimidating from afar. However, up close, for Marco at least, its multi-shaped exterior left plenty of room to maneuver when it came to climbing. "And plenty of time to think about it on the way up…" he muttered, staring up at the towering design before him, pondering the height.

With a running start, Marco gained the momentum he needed to scale the incline at the end of the branch. The Marine pressed his back against the side of the base as soon as he reached the first landing, the cold, alien alloy scraping against his armor. Why did this thing have to be forged by an orbital beam, he thought as slid his way along the rising divot in the structure, why can't the Covenant make something out of brick for once?

Marco reached a dead end once he reached the top of the ramp. The divot just didn't go anywhere else. Luckily, the darker surface that he was now facing was slightly rougher with more grooves than the purple alloy shelling that covered most of the Citadel. He looked up, trying to plot a destination rather than climbing aimlessly. There was an arch-like walkway that curved around the side of the structure, about fifty feet above his location. He tilted his head at the gap between the Citadel wall and the walkway. "I'll worry about that when I get there."

Marco stepped back a little from the wall to get a short burst of speed to help him up the wall. To his surprise, his boots barely slipped off the surface and he was able to grab onto the gridded pattern with little trouble. This wall must have been of a different material; it almost felt like a gritted rubber reinforced with steel through the Assassin's gloves. "Might as well have been brick."

As Marco lifted and heaved himself up the wall, every minute of his past teachings were being dug up from his brain. "Reach, grab, pull" he repeated in his head. It was easier said than done. It was even easier said than done while climbing a regular cliff face, at least then the rough surface would provide stepping stone for his feet. Using his legs as support was important, and this wall didn't give him as much leverage for his feet as it did his hands.

Marco was nearly there with about ten more feet to go. With a burst of energy, he threw himself toward a doodad sticking out of the wall. "Dammit," he muttered as he looked behind him at the walkway. Even this close, the gap was looking like too unrealistic of a jump. The Marine fell back on his virtue of improvisation and looked for a possible Plan B. There was a sizable opening to his left, leading into the structure.

Clutching the wall, he reached for the side of the oval shaped hole. "Come on…you're my way inside…just a little…" A sudden burst of exhaust shot out from the vent, causing Marco to lose his footing as he jerked his arm back. He made the mistake of looking down as his hand mercilessly dug into the wall. Even his HUD seemed to panic as his vitals registered as "KIA" for that brief moment.

Marco let out a muffled grunt as he threw his hand back onto the wall, finally resting his feet back in place. He controlled his breathing, cursing beneath his exhale, and then looked down beneath his arm. It wasn't the height that bothered him; it was the thought of loosing his hand to the heat of that exhaust port. He was just glad not to see his hidden blade glinting in free fall beneath him. "Fine," he murmured, glaring over his shoulder at the walkway.

Marco gathered all of his nerve, bracing his legs hard against the wall. This kind of maneuver was the same as a regular jump; bend the knees and push out. The only problem was the distance between the Citadel wall and the walkway; it was enough to make Marco nervous. He took a breath then counted. _One, two…three!_

He threw himself from the wall, one hand following the other as he reached out. He made contact with the shape, making a noise as his armor impacted its plating. A sharp exhale was stifled by his helmet as he found himself holding onto the catwalk's "railing." Marco brought his legs up for leverage onto the smooth metal rim and pulled himself over the rail and onto the catwalk. "That wasn't so bad."

Marco looked both ways of the catwalk to get a sense of direction. Instinct told him to climb higher, but being this far into the Citadel's perimeter, he couldn't stay out of sight for long. The doorway to the connecting tower would do nicely. Before he entered, Marco took one last look over the edge to make note of his altitude. His built in rangefinder read somewhere around 64 feet. Just then, the patrolling vehicle stopped outside of the turret socket he approached. A Brute stepped out. "Oh dio…"

The ape ignored the turret, walking away from the base toward the perimeter. Marco let out a sigh of relief. Suddenly, he saw the Brute turn around and shout something to his gunner. "What the hell?" Marco magnified his HUD on the Brute Captain just in time to see him bend over toward the grass. Sure enough, in the alien's hand was the UNSC design of an Individual Grenade Launcher. "Son of a-!"

"Fiend!"

Marco spun to his left in time to see a Brute standing before him in front of the tower door. Apparently, the baby kong was doing more than finishing Marco's sentence, what with the finger he had pointed at the Helljumper.


	3. Infiltration

"What are you waiting for?" Marco taunted, bringing his hands up mockingly at the Brute Captain blocking his path.

The Brute lunged at him with his Spiker in hand. He lashed at the Marine with a horizontal strike. Marco ducked under the strike as the blades mounted on the front of the weapon made a _whoosh_ in the air. With both blades extended, he then forced his right blade into his opponent's gut, using his legs as extra force as he stood back up. The Brute hunched over, his arm still recovering position from his first strike. Before he could come back with a back hand, Marco zeroed in on the first vulnerability that he saw and landed his second hit. His blade did the job, passing through the Brute's eye and into his brain.

Marco twisted the blade before removing it from the target's skull. The mass nearly pulled Marco down as it collapsed in his arms. He pulled his blade from the Brute's gut just in time to let him hit the ground. A clean kill, just like the first two. He glanced over the edge once again. "They'll no doubt have the base on alert anyway." It was an error to drop his weapon and hope for the tall grass to cover it, but he hated lugging around more gear than he had to. "Damn it, since when are Brute sentries that smart?"

A sigh escaped his mouth as he headed for the automatic door. The moment the door hummed to life, Marco formed up on the side, drawing his suppressed M6. He had to fall back on his military training for this. When it came to fast-paced room clearing, his hidden blades just weren't enough. The moment the door opened, he strafed past the opening, sweeping right to left with the "slice pie" method. Clear. He made entry and assessed the surrounding. It was just another walkway, although it oddly resembled that of a lighthouse, what with a somewhat spiraling stairwell, each floor having a landing.

Nevertheless, he wasn't high enough, and climbing was getting old. Marco went low profile, lowering his center of gravity as he slid along the side of the stairwell. "Nothing like the feel of walking after a climb." The environment couldn't have been better for sneaking. The lighting was dim, if not qualifying as dark. The only ambient light was coming from the lights embedded in the floor plates along the walkway. The abundance of crates provided plenty of cover as well for the Assassin as he inched his way closer to the high chamber of the Citadel.

A hiss echoed down the path, bouncing off the tower's shaft walls. As Marco was closing on the top of one landing, he rolled out of the open and behind a crate, poking his head over the top to see what he was up against. His HUD immediately drew a red outline around two figures, both Kig-Yar. One of them turned away and entered the room that the landing was attached to, leaving his scout partner standing watch over the corridor.

The guard turned around and approached the rail to glance over the edge. It made the fatal error of resting its weapon on the rail. "Mmm," Marco grumbled, shaking his head. Maintaining control of one's weapon was something that Marco was practically raised with, both in Marine training and the teachings of the Assassin. He'd hate to have to kill an enemy that was acting careless.

In one motion, Marco flicked out his blade as he lunged forward, pulled the Jackal's head down by its long snout with one hand, and plunged his blade through its thin backplate. He felt the blade come to a sudden stop; he had hit the chestplate on the other side. As he went to set the body down, the door behind him began to hum. "É dai…"

The second Jackal left the storage room to find his buddy slouched over the railing. He hissed in an alien tongue but got no reply from the other scout. The Kig-Yar was getting frustrated now, advancing toward him with a heavy pace. He hissed again; still no answer. He couldn't even tell if his partner was moving because of how dark it was. The Jackal stood next to his lifeless partner, back-handing his shoulder to get his attention. The body just slumped over and fell to the side.

The wide-eyed scout frantically looked for a target, landing his gaze face to face with Marco's visor before he could scramble for his weapon. The Helljumper already had a hold of the Jackal's chest plate and a blade from the same arm piercing its esophagus. Still gripping the ledge, Marco pulled back, hauling the alien over the side.

"Enough fun," he said to himself as he flipped back onto the landing, "I've wasted enough time here as it is." Marco began to rush up the stairwell. It was good to save the time for the sake of everyone still fighting in the colony, but one loud step in there would be enough to put him up to his ears in hostiles.

As he proceeded to the top of the shaft, he skidded to a halt, rolling into the corner of the rail as soon as he heard voices. One of them was clear as day, brutish and rough; the other was just as Brute-like but amplified. Neither seemed alerted to his presence. He poked his head around the corner. Luckily, there was just one of them and his attention was focused on a communication node.

"_I care not for your limited numbers!" _the voice growled from the node, _"Double security means double vigilance. Enforce discipline and heighten your patrols."_

"Sir," the Brute Minor protested, "It's nigh impossible to breach the perimeter defenses. Our manpower is being waste-"

"_Do not argue! Our execution team failed to detonate the charges, failed to report, and perimeter guards have found signs of a possible intruder. We can only assume that the humans have sent a second force that we are unaware of. I am Chieftain, and I say that the pack strength is required here."_

This Chieftain sounded a bit more sophisticated than most of the brutes Marco had come across in the past. He did a fair job of keeping tabs on his guard detail. Still, he sounded like he had a stick in his ass.

"Yes, leader," the Brute replied humbly. As the conversation slowly reached closure, Marco began his approach, low and quiet.

"_Wait...Who am I speaking to?"_

"Slazor. Minor Slazor."

"_Where's your captain?"_

The Brute briefly turned to look over his shoulder. Marco rolled out of sight behind another weapon crate just in time. "He…hasn't been in the tower for some time…"

A loud smack rang from the node, followed by "Idiot!" The Brute snapped to attention now. _"He's probably dead for all you know!"_

"But-"

_"Silence! Find this infestation and kill it! And I swear it, if you die by the hands of these maggots, I will make it my goal to stomp through every hell you passed just to kill you again."_

Marco was pulling his blades from the Brute Minor by the time the Chieftain had finished his sentence. He let him stagger, giving him his last moments to be on his feet before he bled out. _"Do you understand me, Brute?...Slazor?"_ Marco cleaned the blood from his blades as he listened to the Chieftain huff angrily. He could tell the Brute knew exactly what had happened. _"Aaarrrgh!"_ There was a crash and then nothing but static.

The fight was on now. Subtlety had served the Assassin well, but there is a time for subtlety and then there's a time to bring the fight to the open. Marco needed to wrap up this conflict and bury it deep within the well of secrets of the Assassins. He glanced at the communication node. It was displaying a three dimensional view of the entire citadel, illuminating the top segment, or high chamber. It was connected to the base only by an entrance leading to an atrium and supported by a multitude of gravity pads that kept the rest of the chamber suspended above the base. That's where the transmission came from, that's where Marco's objective laid in wait for him, and the only way in was through the courtyard design beneath it.

With the flick of a hand against the console, the door next to Marco opened and an aura of sunlight washed over him. "Va bene." After one more breath, he passed through the door, this time traveling along a lighted path, a clear and true sense of direction toward his target. No more shadows. No more hiding. From here on out, it was going to be face to face until the end.


	4. Escalation

As Marco stepped through the door and let his eyes adjust to the light, he found himself overlooking a courtyard from a tower balcony; it was the only part of the Covenant structure that had open sky other than the exterior itself. It was rather enclosed, minus the few doors that branched from the towers. A large chamber supervised the area in the middle, suspended by gravity lifts above the entire yard. All the way at the front of the yard was a massive double-door design that bridged all the way to the high chamber. That was Marco's way in.

Looking over the rail, Marco calculated the distance between him and the yard ground. Only a few meters, he thought. The zealous Marine then jumped over the rail, embracing freefall for a short moment before he had to tuck into a roll as he made contact with the ground. The entrance to the high chamber was just ahead.

As he advanced, fractures of doubt began to plague his judgment of the area. "This is too easy…" His pistol quietly scraped the sides of its holster as it went to accompany the knife in his other hand. Systematically, he swayed left, then right, inspecting behind the rows of gravity pads to make sure there was nothing behind them. Every step that he inched toward the high chamber's entrance felt heavier than the last. It was hard not to make any sound while wearing boots.

A rumbling sensation vibrated in his soles every time he made contact with the floor. It had to be the gravity plating supporting the high chamber. Marco tried not to think about how unstable it could be from the rushed construction of the base. If that plating failed, the chamber was going to come crashing down right through the whole place. The rumbling grew louder along with his concern.

"Damn this place." He double-timed his pace and headed for the doors. Suddenly, every door on the perimeter of the courtyard hummed open. Marco didn't need to look twice to see the masses of Covenant pouring out of them.

"Halt!"

"Shit!" Engaging in a full sprint, the Assassin leapt over the scenic, waist high barricade and bolted for the door. Before he reached ten meters of the entrance, the doors opened and out came a good handful of Brutes. "Stop!"

Marco's boots grinded against the floor until he came to a full stop. He frantically looked for an exit but to no avail. There was no way out of this one. Ready to fight, Marco lowered his center of gravity into a deep combat stance. It was now their move.

Not one Brute, Jackal nor Grunt opened fire. Marco wasn't budging either, even as he exchanged glances with the surrounding enemies. He counted a few Jackal snipers on standby with carbines around the perimeter of the courtyard. That would be troublesome if he tried any moves, but luckily they weren't at an elevated position, so cover wasn't impossible.

The Brutes in front of him weren't so much of a problem. He glanced over his shoulder at a phalanx of Kig-Yar energy shields. They posed the real threat to him. No matter. If he was going to die here, it would be on his feet. Just then, a single captain in the midst of a squad of Grunt Ultras stepped forward.

The ape-like monster gave the Helljumper a twisted stare, studying the lone soldier. Marco was comfortable returning with a cold stare of his own. Despite his helmet, the Brute knew.

"Chieftain, we have it." The Helljumper scanned every attribute of the units; their expressions, the weapons of each, collecting all data for calculation. A few of them tried to hide a few uncomfortable glances when their commander didn't reply to the call. "You," the captain grunted loudly, startling the directed Skirmisher, "pass on word to Drosk that we have the intruder."

The Jackal breed coughed out a hiss in acknowledgement and rushed back through the massive automatic door. "Restrain him," the Brute ordered to a subordinate.

The Minor acknowledged and approached Marco, cautiously toeing his way down the steps. He stopped about ten paces ahead of the soldier. "Lay down your arm." Marco waited to see how long their patience would last. Seven seconds was all that he was given until his second warning, this one backed by the stares of about thirty alien weapons.

The Brute wasn't coming any closer, not while he was armed. Knowing his intentions is what made Marco happy to oblige the ape beyond expectations. He tossed the pistol back to the Brute, who secured it under his bandolier strap. It then continued his approach and pulled out a set of wrist binders. _Let him get closer_. Marco slowly, neutrally brought his hands up.

"Try anything," the Brute growled, "and I'll rip you into bloo-"

Within the fraction of a second, Marco flicked a wrist blade and drove it up under the Brute's jaw. It immediately became dead weight and he had to commit half his strength into keeping the body up. With his free hand, he shoved the Minor's massive arm out of the way and recovered his confiscated Automag from its web gear.

The Jackal phalanx behind him seemed to waver a little with confused shock, as if they didn't comprehend what had just happened to the Brute in front of them. Marco seized that small window of opportunity. Using all the strength he could muster, the Assassin used the Brute's shoulder as leverage and hip-threw the body toward the line of shields.

The Jackal line was distracted, some toppled by the quarter-ton brute corpse. Marco swept his knife up from the ground and charged them before the rest of the gauntlet could be unleashed upon him. Of the four Jackals in the Phalanx, one was left standing, still with his shield forward but his attention faltered by the Marine's distraction.

Marco squeezed a round perfectly through the spherical gap on the rim of Jackal's shield; the shot pierced its forearm, fumbling the Kig-Yar from his cover and giving Marco enough time to close the distance. Before it could recover, the Assassin leaped over the hissing mess beneath the Brute corpse, firing a shot in mid jump that struck the Jackal in the sternum. It was enough to fumble it again, allowing Marco to maneuver behind it with a roll.

Before the Kig-Yar could reacquire its target, Marco seized it by the neck—grabbed its shield arm with his free hand and pulled it up in front of them both. Using the Jackal and its protection for his own benefit, he retreated behind one of the gravity pads protruding from the floor. Most arms that the hostiles had failed to penetrate, but Marco still prayed that any Grunt with a plasma pistol hadn't built up the nerve to start firing again or, worse yet, had the brainpower to send an overcharge his way.

Murphey's Law struck him again as a ball of green plasma splashed across the shield, causing it to shut down. Pink needles immediately swarmed around them, mostly hitting the Jackal.

"Sorry about this!" Marco released the Jackal and shoved it forward just in time for the needle rounds to let out a combined detonation, leaving only a cloud of pink mist. He then bolted the rest of the way to his intended cover as needles, plasma and superheated spikes left a trail dangerously close behind him.

His back hit the covered side of the pad with a clank as he kept his M6 ready. "Oh, I was hoping this would be easier."

The fire died down. They must have known that firing at the gravity pad tether was futile, not to mention counter-productive if they were hoping to make the Citadel last for a while. A beastly grunt echoed across the courtyard, all the way to corner Marco had backed himself into. Shortly after, a chorus of clumsy footfalls began marching closer, flanking on either side of his cover. _Unggoy_. That sound was so distinctive: _clump-clup, clump-clup, clump-clup._ It seemed the Brutes would rather feel him out with the lower ranks than risk their own lives. Marco couldn't blame them after they witnessed how easily he dispatched one of their subordinates.

Still, throwing Grunts at him made his job less enjoyable as he leaned out of cover and dropped three on his right side with a trio of shots. They were such feeble creatures, vicious as they were, it just didn't seem fair to face off against them when they were essentially being used as cannon fodder.

The last grunt on his right dropped its weapon in shock and yelped. He's no longer a threat, Marco decided, turning to dispatch the remaining four to his left. In the brief seconds that the ODST was out of cover, he could see the Brutes advancing once again with a staggered line of Jackals mixed with Grunts.

"You bastardi…"

Unlike personal kinetic barriers used by Elites and Brute officers, a Jackal's shield wasn't a decisive device. It blocked anything coming at it no matter the velocity. In addition, a pair of Skirmishers was making its way along his side of the wall. They were essentially the same thing as a regular Kig-Yar, though they made it a habit of throwing off their prey with sporadic and dynamic movements.

Marco took a look at his pistol, eyeballing the flashing red corner of his HUD from the corner of his eye. The gun clattered across the floor. "Time to get creative."

With a gentle stroke of the hand, Marco slipped a knife from the bandolier on his shoulder, twirling it once between his fingertips before rounding the corner. He caught the first Skirmisher dead to rights. Before it had a chance to raise its Beam Rifle, the Assassin had already flung the knife right into its thin neck.

Shocked, the Kig-Yar hunched over and reached for its wound, its weapon still falling as Marco closed the distance. He looped an arm around its spouting neck while rolling over its back, sending the body tumbling into the second Skirmisher. Angry and baffled, it lashed out its energy cutlass, sparking it to life with a malevolent hiss in mid swing at its own comrade's corpse, the dead weight parting his path with a long, cauterized gash across its abdomen.

Marco couldn't stop now, not with the approaching gauntlet zeroing in on him; he had to get behind that second gravity column, and that meant risking a forward charge right into the Skirmisher's house of pain.

As he bolted for it, the scout wound up with another horizontal swing, but Marco had already anticipated the move. Closing the distance, he ducked under the strike. The side of his left hand stopped the arm from coming back—turned to grab hold of the wrist. The right hand then followed with an open palm-strike, driving right through the Skirmisher's elbow.

Still holding the wrist for leverage, Marco pulled the alien's elbow back and broke it back into place, guiding the blade into its own gut. The scout hunched over, coughing a spray of thick purple on the floor. In that moment, Marco flicked the hidden blade beneath his free hand and finished his opponent with a stab through its feathery neck. The blade exited its mouth briefly before retracting.

One of the Brute captains barked across the lobby. "It's just one human, you whelps! Kill him!"

"Sí! Ma uno! No one else is coming for me!" Marco shouted back, pressing himself against the gravity column while fishing through a bandolier he had cut loose from his most recent kill. Luck smiled on him this time, granting a pair of Type-1 plasma grenades. Smiling, he took one in each hand listening to the shuffling chatter closing in on his cover.

As soon as he was able to guesstimate the distance from the sound of footsteps, he primed both grenades and sent them into the advance as he bolted to the next column. The sight of the glowing orbs caused the Jackals to erupt in panicking cackles, only to be drowned out by the louder, more startled Grunt cries.

"Blue light! Run!"

"Very sad face!"

"Stand your grou-!"

The Captain was cut off by twin detonations. Marco rounded the corner and rushed into the fading cloud of misty blue matter to see that most of Jackals were thrown straight back by the blasts—apparently well-disciplined enough to stare in the glowing face of a grenade upon command, or that they hadn't enough time to disobey their Captain, who was now shoving away charred Kig-Yar remains while uneasily standing off of his knee, shaking under his own weight as a single Unggoy clasped its hands over its head as though he were trying to adjust it back into place.

The Assassin moved quickly through the plasma residue and smoke with near blinding speed, yanking on the handle of his dagger sheathed on the small of his back. If the Brute recovered, he would have to waste more time putting it down, time that he could use eliminating the rest, time that he didn't have. With his running start, Marco kicked off of the staggering, shellshocked Grunt, seizing the advantage of altitude over the Brute. His dagger made certain that time would be spared as he blurred past the Captain, leaving a spouting gash in his neck. He finished it off with a quick, inverted stab to the base of his spine. The Brute crumbled to the ground, joining his subordinates.

As the smoke cleared, Marco stood at the ready, facing what remained of the Covenant legion, at its leader. The Captain's jaw twitched, his free hand balled into a fist as his other was hefting the infamous Bruteshot, a two-handed grenade launcher with an ominous blade that sloped down its back end. He let out a howl, bringing the weapon to bear.

The first shot Marco had dodged completely, back-flipping to avoid its concussive blast. The remaining five rounds were soon to follow, the Brute's roar echoing through the chamber over shot fired. By now, the Assassin was bolting for cover.

"Cazzo!" he yelled, repeating as each detonation grew gradually closer, trailing him as he bolted for the nearest column. He slid behind the grav-column just in time for a pair of rounds to splash against the floor panels. The Brute's grunts and growls only confirmed that his weapon had run out of shells (Marco hadn't thought to count while running).

The Brute unleashed a roar that vibrated along the grav column and into Marco's backplate, sending a tingle down his spine. "Come out and fight, you coward!"

Marco humored the Brute, revealing himself with a slow and steady walk to the center of the atrium. The Assassin could see amusement in the Jiralhanae's face as he drew his short blade from the sheath on his back. The curved knife was an ancient design, the use of which dated back to the Assassins of Masayaf. Though an aged and outdated style, the weapon—like any other in Marco's arsenal—had been finalized with the right features meant to combat the many ranks of the Covenant.

_That's it, you hulking idiota. Keep laughing._

With an unintelligible, savage grunt, the Brute unleashed four of his minions—both Kig-Yar—barreling toward the Assassin, energy cutlasses tailing them in outstretched, clawed grasps. The first two fell to throwing knives—the remaining two leaped over the bodies of their comrades and continued their charge. Marco ducked low as the one on his left attacked, letting the first strike pass over his head with a threatening hum. Having the Skirmisher at the disadvantage he was looking for, he lashed the short blade's laser forged edge through his foe's light armor, past the uniform's secondary layer, and through the Kig-Yar's callused flesh.

Marco followed through but dragged his knife out of the Jackal's side, then, with both hands on its base, he thrust the blade straight into the base of its spine. As the second alien moved into position to strike, he had just enough time to twist the handle for good measure, the cracking of bone and splitting of tissue vibrating through the knife.

The second fighter appeared behind the body of his falling comrade, his cutlass already in mid swing. Marco didn't take any chances this time by attempting another parry. Instead, he rolled just before the hard-light blade screeched against the alloy floor.

By now, his first instinct was to quickly dispatch the smaller support target and free up space to handle the Brute leader. As soon as Marco acquired his footing, he spun on the front of his feet and slipped another throwing knife from his bandolier, only to see it ping harmlessly against a pair of miniature point-defense shields on the Skirmisher's gauntlets.

Anticipating a second strike would have left the fighters at a standoff for a while—the Kig-Yar was calling Marco out on his own game, staying on the defensive. As for the Brute Captain; he was merely trying to buy time to reload his grenade launcher, which warranted a knife, effortlessly thrown with the flick of a wrist as Marco was engaged in a stare-down with the Champion before him.

"Ah!" the Captain howled as the blade stuck into his elephantine skin between the neck and collar bone. He proceeded to drop his weapon and hurdle for the nearest exit shouting, "Get it out! Get it out!"

The two circled each other, blades drawn, glares unbroken. Simultaneously, they both drew back, but the Skirmisher was the first to strike—an overhead slash that Marco parried with his short blade, erupting in a shower of sparks as he shoved the lambent cutlass aside, driving his elbow back into the alien's helmeted snout. As he tried to follow with a horizontal slash, the Kig-Yar bested his strike with its natural speed, leaping out of the short blade's reach.

Marco used his momentum to spin into a second slash, which skimmed harmlessly off of the cutlass, causing him to curse. In a struggle that lasted seconds, he finally broke his opponent's guard by driving his boot into its gut, sending it stumbling back a few feet and giving him enough room to strike again.

His hit landed just below the protection of the Skirmisher's point-defense shield, raised in futile hope that it would stop the attack. A stream of purple blood fountained from its arm as the blade cut deep through the gap and made contact with bone. The Kig-Yar backed down, its arm now hanging uselessly at its side, but with blade hand still at the ready. The hesitation was what Marco had been waiting for.

He flipped his knife to a reversed grip, waving the fighter to attack him with a free hand. "Waiting for an invitation?"

The alien jerked its head forward, flaring the blood red feathers on its neck, shaking with militant vigor. Raptor-like jaws opened wide with an angry cackle and spraying out a mist of saliva as its whole body lunged into motion and barreled toward Marco.

The Assassin sidestepped the attack, parried the incoming energy blade, and swung his blade with the momentum gained to break the fighter's elbow from beneath. Its weapon clattered on the floor and faded with a hissing pop, its owner stood in shock, arms limp as it watched his human foe disappear out of sight. Only then did it realize the screaming pain along its ribs, the slick feel of blood seeping from a crevice in its rib plate. The Kig-Yar willingly brought himself to his knees—he was finished.

There was a click, followed by the faint hiss of blade; that sound of metal cutting through the air. The Champion kept its head high, accepting its fate. Despite being defeated, it greeted what was to come with satisfaction. For the first time in ages, he had felt so exhilarated by the thrill of the fight.

The human spoke again, this time not in the tone of an opponent. It spoke in words that the Champion could not understand—he had never heard them before, not even by other humans. They sounded relaxing, pleasant. They echoed to him again after the darkness came.

"Requiescat in pace."


End file.
